


What's in a Name?

by sageclover61



Series: Bard Assassin [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Blackmail, Episode: s01e04 Of Banquets Bastards and Burials, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, child of surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageclover61/pseuds/sageclover61
Summary: For the last 10 years, Jaskier has been following Geralt around the world on and off, and the introverted Witcher still doesn't know his name. That doesn't mean they haven't had a lot of fun in the sharing a bedroll kind of way, but it's not supposed to mean anything.It does.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Bard Assassin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623745
Comments: 21
Kudos: 846





	What's in a Name?

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone else notice that Jaskier goes unnamed in episode 2, but before he refers to himself in the third person in episode 4, Geralt address him as "Bard"? According to the timeline, the banquet happens ten years after their quest in episode one. Coincidence? I think not!
> 
> Please come scream at me on tumblr, @sageclover61

**Geralt**

Geralt often marvels at how the bard can so easily get him into situations such as these. He’s in a bathtub, and the Bard is trying to get him clean of the selkiemore guts, something about a banquet in Cintra they absolutely have to go to.

He doesn’t understand why the bard wants him to go. It’s going to be the most high key event in the entire kingdom this year, and that’s just not the scene for a Witcher, even if the Bard’s last decade has been spent composing songs intended to bolster their reputation. Maybe it’s worked, maybe it hasn’t. King Foltest’s daughter hasn’t been the only Striga he’s been asked to  _ cure, not murder _ .

Sure, he and the bard have been having sex for years, but he’d thought it was just sex, just one night stands. He doesn’t even know his  _ name _ . But all the people the Bard must know, could ask to accompany him, why Geralt?

What does he care about the offered Earthly Delights? He could already have all the food, women, and wine he could ever want, but those aren’t things he really wants, they’re just things that he thinks makes the Bard happy.

He likes it when the Bard is happy, held tightly against his side, sated from hours of sex after hours of riding or hiking. Sometimes the Bard falls asleep quickly, sometimes it takes longer, but he always falls asleep first, letting him watch and admire how beautiful he is, at last  _ silent _ .

He’s not sure he understands why he feels so sour when the Bard says, “Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?”

They’re not  _ strangers _ . They’re perhaps not  _ friends _ , but they’re most certainly not strangers. Not after ten years of sharing the bedroll after the Bard’s got eaten by a most unfortunate  _ goat. _ Sure, they could have replaced it, but there was no reason for it. Not when there were other more important things to buy with what little coin they had.

“Every lord, knight, and twopenny worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!”

_ Who the fuck is Jaskier? _

He doesn’t ask.

“Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.”

It’s not his  _ scary  _ face that he sends the bard. Rather, it’s a look of disbelief, and slight confusion, mostly about why hearing of the bard’s conquests is making the sour feeling increase. And then the bard is  _ stealing  _ his Cintran Ale.

_ He’d earned that, fuck it. _

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry.” He’s sour, so sour, and he still doesn’t know why, but with a grumble, he relents. “I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.”

  
  
  


“You must want something for yourself once all this… monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

“I want nothing.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.”

It stings, but he’s learned to match the bard word for word. “I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet, here we are.”

* * *

They’re in the woods outside of Cintra, but Geralt doesn’t fucking  _ care.  _ “I want you to fuck me,” he says. The Bard wanted to know so badly what he wants? This is what he wants. They haven’t even lit a fire yet, let alone pulled the bedroll out of Roach’s pack, but he doesn’t care.

A fucking child surprise. Not even one. Two, in fact. Pavetta to her newly betrothed, and Pavetta’s child to  _ him _ . He doesn’t want a baby. Doesn’t  _ need  _ a baby. Fuck the fact that Witchers had relied on male child surprises to bolster their ranks for generations, there will be  _ no more Witchers _ .

He hadn’t wanted to go, he should never have gone.

But it wasn’t the Bard’s fault. As much as he might have wanted to blame him, he couldn’t. Bad things happened when you tried to skirt destiny. If destiny saw fit to send a child of surprise his way, it wasn’t his fault.

Without his presence, the cursed knight would have been slaughtered, and Pavetta might have chosen to die rather than bear that loss, and the subverting of destiny would have destroyed Queen Cilanthe even sooner than she would destroy herself in the end.

The bard kisses his neck. “Do you really want me to fuck you? Or do we want to curl up in our bedroll? Perhaps you want to scream at the world about the injustice of a child surprise when you only asked for the law of surprise as a  _ joke _ . Perhaps you want to scream at  _ me,  _ as it’s entirely my fault we were there to begin with.”

Geralt reaches for the bard and tugs him closer. Not to hurt him, never to hurt him, and despite the sharp sting to his own words, the bard doesn’t flinch. He kisses the bard’s forehead.

“Shouting at destiny will not change it,” he says. “And I’m not going to shout at you. For all that I might hate this, perhaps this was still the lesser evil. Yes, I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t remember tonight.”

The bard shakes, and Geralt holds him still, taking a step back so he can study the bard better. Where did that blood come from? The bard is pale, and Geralt realizes that he had been so focused on his own feelings and desires that he hadn’t considered how the bard might feel following the events of the bloodbath in the great all of Cintra’s castle.

“But we can curl up in the bedroll instead,” he says, realizing the Bard had likely suggested that for himself. Without letting go of his bard, he grabs the bedroll and throws it on the ground so they can crawl inside it.

His bard doesn’t even mention the lack of a fire, just clings to him. That, more than anything else, tells Geralt that something more is wrong. That it wasn’t just the bloodbath of humans that has the bard trembling like a leaf in his arms.

“What happened?” he asks.

The bard sobs in his arms. Geralt did not expect an answer, nor did he think that the bard was injured, rather that this was from some great emotional turmoil of the evening. He considered using the sign Axii to bring peace to his mind, but he chose not to as the bard spoke first.

“I… I, Jaskier of Oxenfurt, killed someone, tonight,” the bard mumbled, still shaking.

Jaskier. One of the names the bard went by, then. And the only one he knew. “I’m sorry,” he said. When had Jaskier killed? He’d been present for the bloodshed, of course, but he’d been holding a lute, not a weapon, and the lute had not been bloodstained.

He should not have allowed himself to be pulled away from his bard’s side. Jaskier had asked him to come to be  _ his  _ backup, and he’d failed.

The bard cried himself to sleep in Geralt’s arms, and the Witcher allowed it. Killing humans was never easy, but sometimes it was necessary.

“I love you, Jaskier,” he whispers into his bard’s hair. Four words, not spoken lightly. It could be difficult for him to express himself, but his bard deserved every word, even if he wasn’t currently awake to hear them.

* * *

**Jaskier**

He was in love with a fucking Witcher, a creature most humans still disblieved could have any human feelings or emotions at all. Jaskier knew better, of course. If Geralt had no feelings at all, then he wouldn’t be able to feel things like annoyance, or lust, and the bard had personal experience with the Witcher’s actions when he felt either.

You learned a lot about a person in a decade, even if they didn’t want you to, especially if you were observant. He wouldn’t have survived Oxenfurt if he hadn’t been observant.

Jaskier had learned all sorts of things about Geralt. The fastest way to bring him to completion, ways to draw out his pleasure for the greatest rewards, how adrenaline could make him instantly horny. He’d learned other things too, like how soft he was, despite his supposedly chilly exterior that wasn’t so cold as it was just Geralt’s personality.

He’d gotten carried away though, all but admitting his affection while kneeling next to the bathtub. He was lucky the lapse had been in private, it could have gotten him killed if he’d been anywhere else.

Geralt didn’t even have any idea that it was in fact the equivalent of a fucking declaration. Or maybe in the end, he just didn’t care.

Jaskier cared about Geralt, but he wanted his Witcher to be loved more than he cared that Geralt loved him back, and if they continued on like this for three more decades, he'd be a happy man indeed.

If he was still alive that long.

As much as he would have liked to go to the banquet for nothing more than the playing of the music, Queen Calinthe had summoned him for another purpose altogether.

Someone had hired assassins to kill the princess, and Calinthe wanted them stopped, and there was no way he could survive this.

He  _ could _ frame it so Geralt made the kill, but even that felt wrong. The assassin would be from his guild, and you did not take contracts that intervened with the purpose of other guild members and you certainly didn't take contracts to kill them.

But the queen was also blackmailing him. He didn't have a choice if he didn't want to already be marked as a rogue.

If anyone found out he'd done this, he would be marked a rogue for that.

* * *

For all Geralt had sworn not to kill any humans, there was still a bloodbath, and Geralt was still right in the middle of it, and Jaskier's mark had taken the opportunity to disappear. 

It made sense, though. He would have done the same if the princess had been his mark. The middle of the great hall was not the place to murder the princess, especially when this was sure to be only the first of several bloodbaths.

So he did what he did best and disappeared into the castle, following the scent of lies and deceit. This was the most challenging trail he'd followed in awhile, but that was to be expected. This was a professional, and he was slightly out of practice.

He killed the assassin in a hallway that must have led to the princess' bedchambers. The assassin had expected no resistance except from the castle guards, and had not been expecting a colleague to turn rogue.

Jaskier was just returning to the banquet when Geralt was saying that a Law of Surprise was good enough for him, followed by the revelation that the princess was  _ pregnant _ .

The other assassin had taken a contract on a  _ pregnant woman _ . There was supposed to be honor among them. That was supposed to be out of the question.  _ Destiny _ wasn't supposed to allow it.

The bard assassin didn't have time to ponder further as Geralt was storming out of the building and he took that as meaning it was time to go.

Jaskier knew better than to say anything, so he followed sedately as Geralt led Roach into the woods. He'd  _ killed  _ an assassin. From his own college. He  _ might _ be able to get away with this one, in the event that anyone found out about it, but he couldn't be so  _ careless _ .

He barely managed to keep from running into Geralt or Roach, as he failed to notice they had stopped moving.

"I want you to fuck me," the Witcher said suddenly.

He doesn't  _ feel _ like a good fuck. Maybe to be fucked, so roughly that he's the one who would forget what he's done. But he'd rather be screamed at. Penance. He  _ killed a colleague for fuck's sake _ .

Geralt hasn't said anything else, staring just as far away as he must be doing. He kissed his neck.

“Do you really want me to fuck you? Or do we want to curl up in our bedroll? Perhaps you want to scream at the world about the injustice of a child surprise when you only asked for the law of surprise as a  _ joke _ . Perhaps you want to scream at  _ me,  _ as it’s entirely my fault we were there to begin with.”

He felt numb, raw, but he felt like he  _ needed, deserved _ , someone's ire. Provoking any Witcher was a bad idea, but he found he didn't  _ care _ . 

Geralt grabbed him, but he was filled with too much adrenaline to feel fear. He wanted pain, but that didn't come either, as the Witcher  _ hugged  _ him.

“Shouting at destiny will not change it,” his Witcher told him. “And I’m not going to shout at you. For all that I might hate this, perhaps this was still the lesser evil. Yes, I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t remember tonight.”

He can't help it, Jaskier trembled with the effort it took to keep from sobbing right there. He's never been softer than he was in that moment, and he  _ knew _ he couldn't provide Geralt with what he wanted right then.

The Witcher took a step back, and Jaskier wondered if he could see right through him. He felt as unclean as Geralt had looked, covered in selkiemore guts, so unclean not even a bath would help, and he just wants to be held.

“But we can curl up in the bedroll instead,” Geralt added, and he was so relieved he could barely keep from sobbing. He chose to cling to the Witcher instead, and he almost doesn't notice the motions that end with the two of them in the bedroll. 

"What happened?" The tone is easily the softest he's ever heard from him, vastly different from Geralt's usual coarseness. It's enough for him to lose what little grip he had left of his composure and he sobs heavily.

He killed a fucking assassin. But he can't tell the Witcher that because that doesn't fit the guise he's created. He's been lying by omission for a decade, how do you come back from that? Can you?

Geralt doesn't seem inclined to pressure him into speaking and that, more than anything, has him answering. “I… I, Jaskier of Oxenfurt, killed someone, tonight." Not once in the last decade has the Witcher called him by a name, even the one he had chosen for this guise. He's never let that bother him, but even if this isn't real, he really just wants to be held, and possibly soothed,even with a name that isn't his own.

"I'm sorry," Geralt whispered, and oh wasn't that wrong. He was to blame for the trouble Geralt had found himself in, surely a child surprise trumped one dead person Geralt hadn't met.

He cried and cried, and Geralt said nothing further except to hold him and wasn't that all he'd ever wanted in life.

He was almost asleep, seconds from it, when there was one last whisper to the edge of his consciousness.

“I love you, Jaskier.”


End file.
